


Let us see the sunrise this time

by MildSpinning



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternative Universe - T'Chaka takes Erik back to Wakanda, Angst and Feels, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cousin Incest, Erik is Angry, Erik is raised in Wakanda, M/M, Racism, Rating May Change, Slow-ish burn, Spoilers, Translation Available, Wakanda, Young Erik Stevens, Young T'Challa, mentions of mpreg, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian, 中文翻译 | Translation in Chinese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildSpinning/pseuds/MildSpinning
Summary: In Wakanda Omegas are an undeniable gift from Bast. Their strength, their beauty are a blessing to any family in which they are born, and to whom they bond. Outside of Wakanda that is far from the case.To reject a blessing is to reject Bast, to bring her wrath upon his family, upon Wakanda itself. T'Chaka has no choice but to bring N'Jobu's son back to Wakanda, the risk of leaving him behind now too high a price to pay. Surely a promised bonding between T'Challa and the first Omega born to the Royal Family in centuries shall bring Wakanda to new heights of prosperity?What are a few lies afterall, if they are in order to ensure Wakanda's future?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know this is fairly early in the film fandom but I absolutely adored the film and am going to do my best to do it justice. If Incest (between cousins) bothers you please turn around and we shall part ways with a disagreement on kinks. I reserve the right to up the rating and add new tags as they become relevant. I was just really inspired by the movie and wanted to get this out. I have a pretty solid idea of where this is going to go and am working on the outline now! I have no beta reader, so any offers or suggestions are very welcome. 
> 
> I added ABO because I wanted to add another dynamic (hah!), it is a long standing guilty pleasure of mine. Because why not add dynamic driven discrimination on top of racism, in a way? 
> 
> Please leave kudos and let me know what you think!

 

A good man cannot always be a good King. 

 

A good King is rarely a good man. 

 

T'Chaka knows this, has known it since he took the mantle of Black Panther. The weight of his people and their safety heavy on his heart as his claws dug into N'Jobu -- _brother, traitor, so_ many  _things_ \-- as he slowly lowers his body to the ground the tears streaming down his cheeks even as he pulls his claws out of his brother's chest unable to look as the dark crimson blood slides easily down the vibranium claws falling to the carpet. Any sound is muted, though for a moment T'Chaka can mistake the pounding of his heart as it squeezes and talents pumping blood, so much blood--

 

"We will never speak of this again," he whispers to Zuri who stares at the body on the ground for a moment longer before looking up to his King, his savior. 

 

"Your Highness, the boy--" 

 

"Must be left behind," T'Chaka cuts in, the command in his voice is clear. T'Chaka is not a man who is used to being questioned, he is sovereign and when he gives his command it is law. He is a fair commander, but he is King and Zuri is a loyal subject who would not question his King without reason. 

 

"He is an Omega, my King," Zuri says just as T'Chaka begins to move past him and immediately the taller man freezes, back straightening to a rigid line before he turns slightly to stare at Zuri. Neither man breathes as if every ounce of air as departed the cramped Oakland apartment. 

 

"You are certain," it is not a question. Zuri would not have dared to bring up such a jarring statement without confirming it.

 

"He is too young to have presented, but knowing his mother was born of two omegas I had a sample of his DNA checked to be certain," Zuri answers the unspoken statement anyway as he swallows hoping he has not overstepped his boundaries. All he can think of is that young boy playing basketball on the streets, sent away by the dead man in the room to ensure he did not hear too much. 

 

T'Chaka is silent for a long moment. Omegas, _all_ Omegas are considered a great gift from Bast within Wakanda's borders. None have been born to the Royal Family of Wakanda in centuries, seen by some of their more superstitious subjects as a drought of bad luck upon the Golden Tribe. Omegas in Wakanda are revered not only as bringers of life but also for their strength, as capable warriors whose connection to the very essence of Wakanda without question, without equal. Omegas are scientists, warriors, teachers, and generals in Wakanda.

 

He knows it is not the same in these barbaric places. 

 

To T'Chaka it seems these fools treat their Omegas as little more than broodmares. Their opportunities are limited at best, for all the talk at the United Nations of inclusion and 'Omega Rights are Human Rights', the progress is sorely lacking. And for all his brother claims, for all his reasons to betray his country and his proclamation that T'Chaka is willingly blind T'Chaka is aware that a black male omega will find no true place in this country. And if Zuri had tested the sample surely N'Jobu would have done the same. 

 

He should have brought the boy home, should have done anything but what he _did_ \--

 

T'Chaka takes a breath hands closing into tight fists as the claws pierce his armor not touching the skin beneath. A good man cannot always be a good King, the body of his brother laying in a pool of blood is proof enough of that. But to reject a blessing from Bast would bring only ruin upon his family, ruin to T'Challa--

 

_T'Challa_. 

 

His son will be a good man one day, a strong warrior and protector of their people, a brave Alpha king. An Alpha king with a mate of royal blood who, once joined together would bring a new age of prosperity to Wakanda. Surely this is what Bast would intended when she had given them such a blessing for? 

 

"Bring the boy to the roof, take only what he needs," T'Chaka says pausing briefly at the door. He can smell the blood thick in the room, the tang of the scent of another lost Alpha, of his brother's death, "tell him Klaue killed his father." Without another word he walks out of the apartment the Dora Miljae at his heels. 

 

After all, what Klaue had done had driven T'Chaka's claws into his brother as surely as his brothers own actions. 

 

Zuri looks at the body of his friend (and N'Jobu had been his friend) still as his brain slowly catches up to what his King commands. Erik will have seen the ship, this Zuri does not doubt. Erik is a brilliant boy who is far too observant for his own good. Will Zuri even be able to lie to him? What had N'Jobu even told Erik of Wakanda? Zuri has many questions but he moves quickly through the apartment even as his mind struggles to supply answers. Some clothes, even if Erik will never again want for anything the familiarity will not be unwelcome. Zuri hesitates before he takes the photos of Erik's mother and father, arms wrapped around one another smiling with such life, and places it with great care in Erik's beat up school bag protected by layers of clothing. There are no toys save for his basketball that Erik is especially fond of, even if he were it would not take long to fit the boys possessions into the single bag. 

 

Zuri moves to the door, hesitates as he looks at N'Jobu's body one last time. He sees the glint of the ring, a gift from the former King to his sons. It is Erik's right now, just as it is T'Chaka's. 

 

He takes the ring, whispers a prayer for N'Jobu that he may find peace with his ancestors and walks away, never looking back. 

 

\--

 

"Uncle James? What's wrong? Where's dad?" Erik asks as he sees Uncle James coming out of their building. His friend passes him the ball and Erik catches it easily, "I'll be back!" He calls back as the other boys let out exasperated sounds each one shouting for someone else to find a ball. 

 

There's something wrong, he sees it in Uncle James face, in the way he walks with Erik's bag in his hand. Erik knows his dad has enemies, knows what his dad wants the world to be, with his stories of Wakanda as fantastical as they sound, his dad wants to make waves and Erik sees it as inspiring. 

 

But it is dangerous.

 

"Come on Erik, we gotta go," James says as he jerks his head back to the apartment building. Erik's arm tighten around the ball, he hesitates for a moment to glance back at the others who have already found another ball to begin playing with. He wants to keep playing, wants to improve his skills. Everyone thinks he could be great at basketball if he keeps practicing but Uncle James is his dad's best friend and his expression says that this is serious. 

 

So he nods, holding onto his ball as they walk towards the dirty building. There's an elevator but it's rickety at the best of times and prone to jerking to sudden stops between floors. They take the stairs but they pass the floor of their apartment and Erik slows for a moment in confusion his scuffed old sneakers scraping on a chip of the stairs. 

 

"Come, come we must hurry," Uncle James says and to Erik he sounds...sounds almost like his dad would sometimes. The accent--

 

"What's goin' on? Where's dad?" Erik asks even as his feet move him forward.  

 

"Erik, now ain't the time!" Uncle James snaps and he sounds like himself, familiar. Yet Erik's shoulders stay tense as he clings to his basketball his small hands memorizing each ridge and flattened area, well worn from repeated use. Something is wrong, he knows something is wrong. Just like he knew something was wrong when his Dad walked out of the ER into the waiting room his eyes red, his voice cracking as he told him his Mother was not going to get better. That she was gone. Gone before they ever got the chance to get her on the operating table. 

 

Erik takes step after step, he counts each step he takes but after asking James what was going on he feels like he is losing count. James is taking him to the roof he realizes shortly, but why he does not know. The door to the roof is barely on its hinges, the chain wrapped around the lock a useless attempt at keeping anyone out. Some of the older kids come up here to smoke pot, the heavy scent often drifts down to the court if the wind is blowing right. But who can blame them for wanting an escape? James moves the useless chain out of the way and swings open the door gesturing for Erik to walk through first. He steps forward his eyes widening comically as he looks at...at the thing he saw come from the sky, the thing that looks more like some alien thing from Star Wars than anything Erik has ever seen before. Two women with their heads shaved, dressed in beautiful red armor and gold (is it real gold? Shit that would be worth a lot of money) stand at the walkway with spears (actual fucking  _spears_ ) in their hand. They are beautiful, they are ferocious. Erik thinks vaguely that his Mom would have liked them. Is this about Wakanda? Is this about those stories his Dad would tell him? About the most beautiful sunsets in the world? Where he could belong if they only gave him the chance?

 

_"You are an amazing gift N'Jadaka," his Father tells him one night after catching Erik trying to sneak into his things. His Father only calls him by his Wakandan name when he is particularly proud...or when Erik is in trouble, and right now it is hard to tell which. He tries to look ashamed, remorseful for disobeying his father's orders but all he can offer is an almost sly smile, "in Wakanda...in Wakanda your birth would have been shouted from cliff tops, raised above all others. Perhaps even above that of the Crown Prince."_

 

_"Why don't we go back?" Erik asks not for the first time, likely not for the last. His Father hesitates for a moment as if he were pondering the same question himself before he shakes his head patting Erik on the shoulder._

 

_"There are important things we can do here. Besides, what would we do without James yea? What would he do with out us?" Erik laughs at this and shakes his head._

 

_"Probably get landed in jail," Erik jokes as he looks at the time, the guys are going to be on the court soon. His father waves him off with nothing more than a reminder to stay out of his things, eyes distant and fond as Erik rushes off more concerned with basketball than his fathers story of Wakanda, of fairy tales._

 

"James?" His hand reaches out to his Uncle and he is afraid. Erik rarely admits these things, he has grown up on the streets and been abruptly awoken to gun shots on the streets below before. But this strangeness, this...he needs to hold onto something familiar, something solid, something  _real._

 

James squeezes his hand, his eyes are watering as he leads Erik onto the ship. The women at the base of the walkway do not glance at him though Erik swears he sees one of their noses twitch. He is too young to yet be able to differentiate between dynamics but he knows those women are alpha's, their scent closer to his father's own spicy one then to James neutral beta scent. 

 

The interior of the ship is as fantastical as it is outside, all sleek lines and beautiful design that he cannot begin to comprehend. Erik's head snaps around as if nearly about to fall off as he tries to take everything in, and he can see that Uncle James is not reacting, knows it makes no sense but he is drawn in to the technology, to the seamless beauty of it all such a contrast to the grime and smog of the projects and busted basketball court beneath them. It is what his dad had told him, it is so much more than what his dad had told him it's--

 

"Uncle James where's my dad?" Erik's voice is barely above a whisper as he clings to the ball in his arms. The women who had been guarding the front of the craft begin to board the ship one walking forward to take a seat at what Erik assumes is the helm of the craft. Any other time he would have had questions, any other time he would have pushed his way forward to demand his answers. Instead he looks up at his Uncle James who cannot meet his eyes, who did not react to this technology, who he  _trusts,_ desperate for answers, any answers.

 

James says nothing as he turns to him tears falling from his dark eyes as he swallows thickly standing before Erik, his hands reach up as he tugs down his lower lip and reveals the glowing mark of a War Dog. Erik's eyes widen in shock, the truth as clear as day. This is about Wakanda. Wakanda, is  _real_.

 

"I was sent to look after your father," Uncle James says his voice choked and that accent creeps back in to his voice as he falls to his knees in front of Erik as if he were begging forgiveness or offering prayer, "I failed Erik. I failed and nothing I can say will ever make up for what has been done," he chokes for a moment as the tears fall looking Erik in the eyes as he manages, "Erik, Erik your father is gone. He...He was killed by Ulysses Klaue."

 

Erik hears screaming, the anguish rips through his numb body, through the pounding in his ears as blood races to his head and he turns to fling himself towards the opening only to be stopped by one of the two women who had been guarding the entrance.

 

"BABA! BABA!  _BABA!"_  

 

It is only as he continues to hear the screams, the desperate shouts as hot tears flow down his own cheeks while hands desperately claw towards a closing opening that realizes that those screams are coming from  _him._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you so much everyone for the amazing response, it is really humbling to see and I hope this next chapter lives up to what I began in the first. Please continue your praise, it's making me blush and all the more happy to continue this. The first third of the story is fully outlined, I just wanted to get this part out before I finished it up even if it is a bit shorter than the first one. The following chapters will be longer. 
> 
> A special thank you to Gallons_of_the_Stuff for catching my error in the previous chapter. I heard Jake when I was seeing the movie so that's what I wrote. She caught that on IMDB it is James, so that has been corrected in Chapter One and in this one as well.
> 
> As with the previous chapter this is unbeta'd so please forgive any errors of spelling, grammar. I have reread the chapter a few times and think I caught all the mistakes!

 

 

The walkway pulls up, it closes. Gone are the filthy cracked roof tiles of the projects, all Erik can see through his tears are the blur of red armor. Arms are holding him still, James familiar voice whispering in his ear pleading for calm, promising that it will be okay. _Promising._

 

How can anything ever be okay again? 

 

The basketball he had been holding hits the ground and rolls away as they lift off, Erik can only barely feel the stirring of engines beneath his feet. He wants his dad, he wants to sit with him on the old carpet in their apartment talking about Wakanda, he wants to be on the basketball court with him, he wants--

 

Everybody dies, it is a truth that Erik has known since his mother had left for an activist meeting and never come home, since Darrius's older brother got shot walking home from school. He knows this, but grief is not logical, anger is not logical. He cannot hear whatever Uncle James is trying to say to soothe him as he struggles against the hold on him, arms flying trying to push away while his legs kick out. Maybe his dad is still alive, maybe Uncle James is  _wrong_ , he has to be wrong. His dad is a  _warrior_ , in Erik's young eyes his dad is near invincible, it just isn't possible that he's been killed by some man that Erik's never even heard of. 

 

There's a sound that jars him from his desperate hopes that Uncle James is mistaken ( _or lying_ , a silent whisper in his head that Erik does not acknowledge) and Erik turns his head blinking away the tears as he sees a man standing near the helm of the ship. Erik's basketball is in the man's hands the worn orange a stark contrast to the rich black of his armored gloves, the fingers tipped in claws. Erik blinks a few more time as he looks at the man who drops the basketball to the ground one more time catching it with ease, this time retracting his claws as he does so. Erik stops fighting against the woman in red armor and James to stare at the man, he knows who he is, he remembers his father's stories, remembers how he would sit enraptured and listen to his father speak of his home country for hours. His father had done his best to teach Erik about Wakanda, of their language and culture. 

 

"Do you know who I am?" The man asks as the woman steps away moving to be with her compatriot and Uncle James moves to stand behind Erik his hand moving to rest on the young boys shoulder, a steady weight meant as comfort. Erik wipes his face frantically with the blue sleeves of his hoodie sniffing as he tries to bring his emotions under control, but it's pointless and the tears still fall. 

 

"Y-Yea," he manages as he looks at him and his gaze is accusing. He wants to scream and demand answers from the man. Why he couldn't save his dad, where had he been? Why was the Black Panther, his Uncle, here now? The King of Wakanda steps forward looking down at Erik his hands extending out to return the basketball to him. Erik takes it with trembling hands and once more his arms wrap protectively around it. 

 

"And what else has your father tell you of his home, of Wakanda?" T'Chaka takes a step forward looking at Erik, at the small resemblances the boy has to N'Jobu. It almost makes it too painful to look at him, but T'Chaka's responsibilities as King stand above all things. It is perhaps cruel, to ask the boy this first instead of offering comfort, but he must know what Erik knows. If he knows just what his Father had planned, of his Father's betrayal. T'Chaka does not believe N'Jobu would involve Erik in such things, the reports from Zuri made clear that N'Jobu would send the boy out to play often whenever anything serious was to be discussed. What Erik knows will be what determines the best course of action.

 

"That...that," Erik swallows his tears and his anger for just a moment, "that the Black Panther is the King and Protector of Wakanda. That it's got technology like no ones ever seen."

 

That it could have saved his mom. 

 

"He said it has the most beautiful sunsets in the whole world, that he would take me back one day," Erik tries to control the tears but they fall because his dad promised. His dad _promised,_ and now that promise was no more. 

 

He does not repeat what his dad said about him being a gift, Erik had never understood what his dad meant by that anyway. He understood his father was royalty, the brother to the King, but when he asked his father why a Prince was living in the projects of Oakland his dad had responded as cryptically as ever. 

 

_"Someday, N'Jadaka, you will learn that sacrifices must be made in order to achieve goals more important than yourself," his father says his eyes distant as they sit together in a park. Erik's mom has been gone for three months to the day now and even though Erik can see the longing in his father's eyes when he speaks of Wakanda he always shakes his head when Erik asks yet again why they don't just go there._

_His dad wants to change the world._

_Erik wants that as well._

 

"And he told you the source of our technology?" T'Chaka asks and Erik nods again. 

 

"Vibranium, never seen it 'cept for dad's ring," Erik chokes slightly on more tears and Uncle James squeezes his shoulder. 

 

"I brought it for you," Uncle James says quietly. 

 

"Is my dad here?" Erik asks and he's shaking. Is his dad's body on this ship? Because Dad wouldn't give anyone, not even Uncle James that ring. 

 

"No," T'Chaka replies shortly and as Erik opens his mouth to demand answers the King provides them, "your return to the safety of Wakanda was the priority."

 

"It is what your father would have wanted," Uncle James tries to comfort him but Erik turns around, glaring up at him. 

 

"My dad would have wanted to be alive!" Erik shouts and the anger that was briefly numbed returns with a vengeance. Anger weaves seamlessly with his grief, fire burning in his eyes as he turns back to the King, "where were you?!" He demands voice rising and cracking, raw from his earlier screaming and the sudden swell of emotion. His chest heaves then constricts as everything catches in his throat, trapped before it all spills out.

 

"Dad said you were the strongest warrior he's ever known! You could have kept him safe! He was your brother! Where the hell were you?!" He's screaming again, because he doesn't know what else to do other than turn this rage, this hurt against the man who should have done something--anything. 

 

"Erik! That is enough, he is your--" James begins and Erik turns back to him sharply, dark eyes filled with far too much rage for one so young. 

 

"He may be your King, but he ain't _my_ damn king," Erik snaps not caring that it earns him sharp looks of rebuke from the women at the helm of the craft. James gives him a pained look, Erik turns away from James to face his other Uncle who moves so he is kneeling slightly before the boy closer to his eye level. 

 

"Ulysses Klaue stole Vibranium from within Wakanda, in the process he killed thirty of my people. Our search for him has spanned across the world, your father was a War Dog, one of our best spies. He got too close to Ulysses Klaue and has paid the price," for a moment Erik thinks he can see anguish that nearly matches his own in T'Chaka's gaze but it slips so easily behind the mask of a King, "that I was unable to save my brother from this path will be one of my dearest regrets." 

 

"Regrets won't bring back my dad," Erik says and for several moments the two members of the Golden Tribe stare at one another. Erik does not back down even as his breath catches and he struggles to breathe. It feels as though he has no more tears to shed, that he's been entirely rung out but it seems they still fall.

 

"No, they will not," T'Chaka agrees as he slowly moves back to his feet, "your fathers body will be retrieved so that he may have a proper burial with our ancestors." Even if T'Chaka is unsure it is warranted, even as his brothers betrayal stings deep and twists his heart. The boy will ask too many questions, he is too much like an outsider and he must learn the ways of Wakanda if he is to be a suitable bond mate for T'Challa when it becomes time for T'Chaka to join with his ancestors. Still, the boy is of strong spirit, it reaffirms T'Chaka's belief that he will be well suited for T'Challa. Without another word to Erik, T'Chaka turns and walks to the helm of the ship stopping near the Dora who pilots them through the clouds unseen by those below them. 

 

"Contact Wakanda, tell them a Prince is returning home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa shall arrive...in Chapter Three! 
> 
> I hope that T'Chaka's motivations and rationalizations made sense to everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter everyone! To put it mildly I've been having some laptop issues, the track pad as gone on the fritz so I actually had to write a good portion of this on my phone because editing was an absolute nightmare. It took a while but this chapter is longer than the first two combined so I'm hoping that makes up for the wait? 
> 
> Again thank you for the phenomenal feedback, I hope you all enjoy what is to come and as always this is not Beta read but I did my best to do the edits where I saw them to keep the flow steady. Please keep up the feedback it is amazing to hear and really motivates me to keep this story going. 
> 
> Would there be a preference for longer waits between chapters but compensated by length? I think this should be around the average chapter size but again it may take a week or a bit more to update. 
> 
> Please enjoy the arrival of the Crown Prince of Wakanda!

 

_A Prince is returning home._

Erik knows who his father was ( _was_ , gone, gone forever). Knows his heritage. Knows it is something he should be proud of, that his ancestors were the protectors of Wakanda, the Black Panthers who lived before his Uncle, protecting the hidden nation from outsiders still. Knowing is one thing, understanding another, and living it is the hardest part of it all. 

 

Erik holds onto the basketball in the back corner of the ship not looking towards the helm where his Uncle and the Dora Milaje stay. Uncle James sits beside him in silence for a long time though Erik is not sure how long. Erik's emotions are mercurial, the anger swells and ebbs with crushing grief. Denial grips him, desperately clinging to any rationalization that his dad is really okay. That none of this is happening, that it's just a nightmare and if he only pinches himself hard enough it will all stop.

 

"Did N'Jobu give you another name?" Uncle James asks gently, it's not the first time he asks it but the first time that Erik really allows himself to hear it. He looks up to his Uncle James--and he knows he isn't really James, Erik is far from stupid. He had been told after all that Uncle James was there to look after his father, that he had failed. But that knowledge doesn't erase the man who had taken him to school, who had argued and pressed with teachers that Erik deserved to be challenged more in his studies. 

 

Erik gives a slight nod, hands moving over the basketball. It's oddly comforting, familiar. If he closes his eyes and focuses he's back on the court outside their apartment, moving around his friends not even thinking of what's going on several floors above him. Could he have done anything different to help his dad? If he had insisted on staying, that he would just be in the other room reading would his dad still be alive? 

 

"The name my father gave me was Zuri," Uncle James offers and Erik still doesn't look up at him only shaking his head. The Wakandan name his father had given him,  _N'Jadaka son of N'Jobu_...that's private. It's between Erik and his father alone, he is not ready to share that name with anyone.

 

"Both my parents gave me my name," Erik points out quietly and he misses his parents. He misses his mom's scent, lightly sweet and crisp as she moved through their home almost always dancing and laughing. Misses his father's quiet strength, the way he smelled of the earth, of spice and strength. 

 

"Yes, yes they did," Uncle James agrees and they fall into another stretch of silence. Erik does not look at him instead staring forward at the woman who pilots this extraordinary craft, the woman's hands move smoothly through the air as if it is nothing while the other stands guard over his Uncle, their King. 

 

James--Zuri--reaches up and removes the chain that is around his neck holding it in one hand as the other goes carefully into his pocket and pulls out N'Jobu's ring. He unclasps the chain and slips it through the ring shifting slightly before he clasps it around Erik's neck watching as the ring falls just over the young boys heart. 

 

Could he have left Erik behind? His King had all but ordered it before Zuri spoke up with the truth of Erik's dynamic. Could he have walked away from this boy who is brilliant in a way so few young men are? Knowing that with the advantages available in Wakanda he would grow to be something extraordinary?

 

The truth burns him, shames him as much as the guilt he holds for N'Jobu's death. 

 

Erik lifts up the ring to his eyes swallowing thickly as he looks at the smooth black vibranium. His tongue feels heavy, mouth dry and he cannot even think to form words that could express what he feels. Instead his hand closes around the ring in a tight fist letting the physical pain of his nails biting into his skin distract from his heart. 

 

"My Prince," Zuri says bowing his head and Erik looks at him wrinkling his nose slightly. 

 

"Don't call me that, it's weird Uncle...Zuri?" He frowns unsure if he likes the name and wonders if he should be angry at Uncle James for lying to them for so long but right now he's the only thing familiar to Erik, the only solid thing other than this ring connecting him to his father. 

 

"You will have to get used to it," Zuri reminds him and Erik releases the ring letting it fall back against his hoodie. He doesn't know how long he and Zuri had sat in the back of the craft or if it's because as they cross the world they're also crossing time zones. He has no idea how fast this ship is, he only knows where it's going.

 

Away from his father, towards the land that had been his father's home. Erik stares down at the basketball again, he wonders what the guys are going to think happened to him? If his group for science class is going to be pissed because they definitely needed his help to have a shot at passing? Would any of them even believe the things that Erik has finally seen? Erik can almost barely believe it himself, those stories that seemed like fairy tales were real.  

 

"Dad said he worried that they would say I was lost," Erik says finally speaking again still looking down at his basketball, "the Wakandan's I mean." He looks up at Zuri and can see the slight hesitation in the older mans face, the way he considers the words that had confused Erik and sees a truth in them. Adults are strange. 

 

"You are the son of a Prince of Wakanda, and that makes it all the more unusual that you were raised away from our ways and traditions. I do not know what your father told you but things are not as they are in America. One does not question the command of the King for example, not without very good cause," Zuri says carefully and Erik frowns a little at that.

 

"Mrs. Thompson always said if they tell you not to ask questions you really best ask some more cause there's something they're hiding," Erik remembers the words of the Alpha basketball coach at the YMCA he had sometimes gone to after school. She had been tougher than nails, hadn't taken any attitude from any of the kids but had always been around to listen whenever anyone really needed to talk.

 

"Had she been from Wakanda that woman would have made an excellent Dora Milaje," Zuri shakes his head remembering getting grilled more than one time when he had gone to gather Erik to ensure he wasn't recruiting the young man into anything nefarious.

 

_"That boy has a goddamn future and if you get him wrapped up in_ anything _so help me Jesus I will reign hell upon you," she whispers under her breath as Erik says goodbye to his friends grabbing his bag. Zuri is not a man intimidated by much, he is a_ spy _after all, spying on his own prince no less. Yet the dark eyes that narrow at him even as he raises his hands to try and proclaim innocence._

_She looks as though she believes Zuri about as far as Erik can throw him._

"That's what they are," Erik isn't asking as he nods to the women, one flying the craft and the other in quiet conversation with the King. 

 

"They are among our most fierce warriors," Zuri smiles nodding as he follows Erik's gaze, "they come from every tribe in Wakanda. They protect the Black Panther, and their prowess as warriors is without question..." Zuri sounds proud as he continues to speak of the history of the Dora Milaje but Erik finds he can't really hear his Uncle as he sniffs the air. He hasn't shown his dynamic, won't for probably another five years or so but he's not entirely scent blind.  Beta. Alpha. He can recognize those scents easily enough, Zuri, the King, the woman speaking with the King, but there's also something subtly sweet like honey and apples that seems to roll off the woman sitting cross legged in what Erik assumes is the pilot seat. 

 

"Even if they're an omega?" Erik asks looking up at Zuri head tilting to the side. He knows how people talk about omegas, the way they're seen more as extensions of their alpha's then their own individuals. The guys talk about omegas sometimes, all of them talk about finding an omega, like they were some kind of object or prize to be attained. It has never felt right to him, he remembers his mom and how amazing she was. The way his dad looked at her as if she were the sunrise and the sunset. 

 

_"Regardless of your dynamic, find someone who looks at you like that my love," his mother says as she looks at him over the breakfast table while his father is across the room with Uncle James looking over...something. His father seems distracted, looking up at his mother even as James nudges him trying to get his attention._

_"And find someone, who you can see in the same way," she says kissing his forehead and Erik does not understand what she means at all. The way his mom walks up to his father and presses a kiss to the high bone of his cheek and smiles at him as she sets some eggs in front of him._

_"Yo where's mine?" Uncle James complains but it's half hearted at best as she shoves him lightly in the shoulder._

_"Get your own damn food," she laughs and it fills the small apartment with joy, with peace._

 

"Whatever you learned of omegas, leave it behind Erik," Zuri says more serious than before as he looks at the young boy who has no understanding of the way things are in Wakanda. Zuri wonders how that will alter him, how it will shape his view when he realizes the truth about himself, "in Wakanda it is ability, not dynamic that determines our accomplishments." He says it with such passion that Erik looks at him oddly, wonders if Zuri has a sibling of another dynamic the way he speaks so adamantly.

 

"People are never as different as they think," Erik says as he looks down at the basketball turning it over and over in his hands. The sentiment is familiar, but it has always rung hollow to him. People are different, they're treated differently. Be it because of the color of their skin, their dynamic, their wealth. It's never so clean cut. Only liars or the naive think there's a level playing field. 

 

"Erik," the King calls his name and Erik turns to look at him. He gestures for the young man to approach and with reluctance Erik moves forward not leaving the basketball behind as he moves to the front of the ship Zuri stepping close behind him. His Uncle nods at him briefly as if to acknowledge him before he gestures to the large windows in the ship smiling as they look out onto the jungle beneath them lit by the rising sun.

 

"Watch, it is not something you will ever wish to miss," Zuri assures Erik who cocks his head to the side. It doesn't look like anything special, it almost looks as though they are about to fly into a crowd of trees but as he's about to demand what's going on the shield slips and the tree line it seemed they were destined to crash into dissipates to reveal a great plain, into animal life and sheer beauty. Wild life runs together, villages wave as they pass above them and Erik loses his breath as they approach a city.

 

At first glance it seems crowded, buildings taller than Oakland by far and some higher than those he remembers seeing in San Francisco. It feels as if his head is spinning as he tries to take in everything, the technology in the city as stunning as that on the ship. His jaw hangs down, eyes widen in amazement as he sees the Wakanda his father spoke of but he also sees a society, a society of people who look like him who are surpassing even the greatest accomplishments of Stark Industries. Vibranium surrounds them, hands wave to greet their arrival and Erik glances up to see the slight smile on the King's face as he looks upon his people with such pride. 

 

"Look Erik, the royal palace," Zuri raises a hand to point out the building at the center of the city the peaks proud and bold. Erik moves onto his toes squinting slightly and he sees a small crowd gathered near what he assumes is the landing area and he swallows thickly feeling suddenly unprepared. He takes a deep breath as his hand flies up to the ring resting around the chain near his heart. Nothing his father shared with him would have prepared him for this, for all the descriptions of Wakanda it is so much more than he could have ever imagined. Erik's heart catches and he wishes that his dad were here to guide him through this, to take the eyes that will soon be upon him and avert their gaze.

 

The walk way opens, T'Chaka straightens and a cheer roars from the crowd reaching them inside the shift as Erik moves closer to Zuri. For now he will let himself be weak, let himself cling to 'Uncle James'.

 

\--

 

T'Challa has only vague recollections of his Uncle. He remembers a man with a wide smile who slipped him a sweet treat when he had been a young boy before vanishing across an ocean. The message from his father had been met with a rush amongst the palace staff in mad preparation for N'Jobu's long expected return. Some whisper that the return is a potential threat to T'Challa's position as Crown Prince, as the future Black Panther but these are things T'Challa cares little for. He will earn and deserve his position, will gain the trust of his people as their sovereign just as his Baba has. If he does not, does he truly deserve it?

 

He stands beside his mother head held high as the ship slowly lowers upon the landing pad. There are Dora Milaje lining what will be the walkway for his father to greet his family their spears gleaming in the light of the rising sun. His back straightens as the ramp begins to lower, soon the mantle of Black Panther shall be passed to him and he wishes to fulfill the role, to earn the trust his father has begun to place upon him.

 

His father is the first down the ramp flanked by the Dora Milaje, his mother smiles fondly at her husband the barest upturn of her lips as he approaches them a broad smile on his face. It is then that T'Challa expects to see his Uncle stride in behind his father, yet instead he sees a man he does not recognize dressed in clothing that is distinctly  _American_  with a much younger boy following closely at his heels holding a basketball and for a brief moment T'Challa wonders if his father's message was misheard until he sees the gleam of gold and black metal around the young boys neck. He is composed for one relatively young though T'Challa can see the tension of his shoulders as he looks around at the crowd waiting for them. It is not typical for every tribe to send a representative when the King returns from a mission, but when word that a Prince was returning spread a representative had hurried to the royal palace all expecting the return of N'Jobu. That anticipation shifts briefly to confusion at the sight of the boy and then into somber understanding when they see the ring around his neck. T'Challa thinks he hears a few whispers of prayer. 

 

A Prince has returned, yes. But a Prince has also joined the ancestors. 

 

\--

 

Erik does not exactly shy away or hide behind Zuri, he doesn't. He thinks about it though, there are so many people waiting for them and Erik feels as if his head could spin as he tries to take everything in. It's a sharp contrast to the dingy parking lot he had been playing ball in just hours before, the palace is stunning and the people are dressed in an array of colorful outfits that to Erik seem to glow in the sunlight. At the head of the welcoming party is a woman Erik knows immediately must be the Queen, she stands tall and beautiful dressed in rich purples and gold. The headdress she wears accentuates her cheekbones and the smile she gives the King as they briefly embrace is one that Erik remembers from his own mother giving his father and he swallows down the bitterness, the loss, the anger that bubbles up. 

 

Standing at the side of the Queen is a young man a few years older than Erik dressed entirely in black save for some silver embroidery down his arms. The Crown Prince isn't looking at his parents, like many in the crowd his gaze is on Erik, on the ring that rests near his heart. For a moment their eyes meet and Erik is struck by how oddly kind those eyes are. 

 

"Prince Erik, son of Prince N'Jobu," King T'Chaka's voice pulls Erik away from those eyes and after a slight nudge from Zuri he steps forward as the King beckons him, "this is my wife, Queen Ramonda." Erik is unsure of what kind of reaction to expect, he's never met a Queen before, but she offers him a smile and he feels he needs to say something.

 

"Hey Auntie," he offers awkwardly not really meeting her eyes, but he sees her smile a little wider.

 

"Welcome to Wakanda," she says it as if it is the same thing as saying 'Welcome Home'. Erik's just glad she doesn't try to embrace him knowing he is not prepared for something like that.

 

"And this is Prince T'Challa," the pride is evident in the Kings voice as he introduces his son. Erik looks back up at the older boy, everything about the way he stands speaks to his standing and nobility just as his father's does. He's an alpha, even Erik's nose can pick that up but the way he holds himself is nothing like the older kids after they presented as alpha's who strut around as if they're the hottest shit in town, like they have something to prove. 

 

T'Challa bows and Erik has no idea how to respond, he looks back at Zuri who gestures for him to return the motion so he does awkwardly since he's still holding on to the basketball. 

 

"There is much that must be explained and discussed with the Council," T'Chaka proclaims to the crowd nodding to one of the Dora Milaje, "Anathi will show Erik to his rooms, Zuri you will--"

 

"She will not," Ramonda interjects seemingly affronted by the very notion that one of the Dora will lead him through the palace, "he should be with his family now. Do not be ridiculous." She brushes past her husband and towards Zuri extending her hand for Erik's bag, "T'Challa and I will take him. Send a servant with food, when was the last time the boy even ate T'Chaka, really." Her tone is admonishing but gentle as she takes Erik's bag and her husband at least as the decency to somewhat grimace.

 

"T'Challa shall attend the Council meeting," T'Chaka interjects holding a hand up to stop his son from moving to join his mother. It is not unusual for T'Challa to join with the Council, to begin to learn from his Father the role of King that he will one day fulfill. 

 

"Very well, please, follow me Erik," Ramonda says her voice gentle as she gestures for Erik to follow her. Erik glances back at Zuri who gestures for him to go and Erik nearly staggers forward following her his exhaustion slowly beginning to catch up to him. He looks back one last time, Zuri is speaking with King T'Chaka walking towards another entrance to the Royal Palace. Erik looks to the side again and sees T'Challa looking at him, those oddly kind eyes filled with curiosity.

 

Ramonda sets a hand to the middle of Erik's back but he's too tired to care and lets her guide him forward. The emotional exhaustion is beginning to finally catch up with him as he turns his head forward tucking his basketball under his right arm. He listens but does not process what his Aunt tells him of where they are going, barely acknowledges as she tells him paths to different locations within the palace or gives sweeping remarks regarding architecture and technology. Each step exhausts Erik all the more, it feels as though they are walking for hours rather than a few minutes. 

 

He just needs to stay awake long enough to see the sunset his Father promised him. He needs that. To remember his father, their talks. He will do it for his father. 

 

He barely stays awake long enough to appreciate the room, to consume a few pieces of fruit before he's strewn across the large bed asleep and arm still draped across his basketball. Erik does not feel Ramonda drape a blanket over his shoulders a soft Wakandan lullaby filling the room. She sings for the ancestors, she sings prayers for his father, prayers for his future.

 

And Erik sleeps through it all. 

 

\--

 

T'Challa stands at his father's right as the Council gathers. For a while there is the shouting of grievances, especially from the Border Tribe. W'Kabi stands at the right of his Uncle as the current leader of the Border Tribe shouts and rages about their loss, that Klaue is still out there and there is no explanation from the King about how the man was able to get within their borders--

 

"My brother," King T'Chaka's voice is soft yet it carries throughout the throne room silencing W'Kabi's Uncle immediately, "was killed by Ulysses Klaue. My nephew made an orphan!" His voice rises and he moves to his feet before the Council turning his attention to each tribe with a command for their attention and respect that T'Challa prays one day he will be able to possess even a fraction of. 

 

"There shall be no rest until he is brought to justice, until what he has stolen from us returned so that it may not fall into another's hands!" T'Chaka's proclamation is met by whispers of agreement from the remaining tribes as the Border Tribe falls silent. W'Kabi looks to T'Challa who looks away, he cannot imagine his friends loss but he is certain that his Father will do all he is capable of  to bring Klaue to justice. 

 

"There is the matter of the boy, he was not raised as one of us," a member of the River Tribe interjects and T'Challa's gaze sharpens. How dare someone imply such a thing? How dare any proclaim that Erik is somehow less deserving when he is of royal Wakandan blood? T'Challa knows their traditions, but he does not think they should be so blindly held onto when a boys life was in the balance! Of course his father would choose the life of Erik over blindly holding to tradition--

 

"Erik is an omega," and those words suck the air from the room. No omega has been born to the Golden Tribe in centuries, a blessing that has eluded them. The silence that falls is quickly overcome as T'Chaka raises a call, "Glory to Bast."

 

T'Challa and the rest of the room echo the sentiment. T'Challa can see that there are tears in some of the elders eyes, the few times when an omega was born to their family a great golden age followed and the seeming promise of such a day fills the throne room. 

 

"He has the spirit of a man who will one day be a great warrior," T'Chaka's praise is met with interest as the Council grows more excited. T'Challa has been told by his father to observe all, that a king must pay attention to the mood of all his people even when he cannot please them all. It is strange to see the entire council in complete agreement and yet T'Challa can sense something from his father, in his spirit that the others do not notice. Perhaps it is grief for his Uncle, they had not seen one another in years but before that they had been close. T'Challa pushes the thought away straightening as his father turns to him now. 

 

"And one day he will be a strong mate for T'Challa," and T'Challa feels as if time freezes and his lungs feel as if they burn as he forces himself to draw breath. He cannot hear the reaction of the Council over the roar of the blood rushing through his body as he stares at his father in shock. Arranged marriages are not unheard of in Wakanda, at times they are necessary to restore good faith between tribes but T'Challa never thought his father would arrange one for him. 

 

There is no arguing with the King, not in public when he has made such a proclamation. Arguing would be insulting and only T'Challa's mother would dare defy the King in front of the Council. That does not mean that T'Challa will say nothing, how can he just say nothing when this is his  _life_?

 

"He is just a boy--" T'Challa begins because how can a decision be made before Erik has even presented? He knows the genetic tests are accurate but it makes him feel ill at ease. Perhaps he is reaching but he feels that he must say something for the both of them.  

 

"As are you," T'Chaka cuts in and though his tone holds no warning T'Challa hears it none the less, "but one day you will both be men." His father waves a hand shortly letting T'Challa know the discussion is closed and his decision made, all T'Challa can do is bow his head and clench his hands into fists resting them on his thighs. T'Challa has never given much thought to his eventual bonding. It was distant thing to him, something to concern himself with in a decade at the earliest. Sometimes he thinks of a mate like Nakia of the River Tribe, who is bold but possess a quiet strength and a beautiful smile. That chance, that hint of an idea now will never grow beyond that. 

 

As he sits in a state of shock barely paying attention to what is being discussed even though it is about his future. Erik's future. He is going to one day be bonded to a boy he has not even spoken to, who has lost his father and the only home he has known, brought to a different country and already his fate arranged. T'Challa knows his father is a wise King, a great King who will do anything to protect their country and their people but this...

 

"The knowledge of this shall not leave these chambers," the timbre of his father's voice raises as he makes the proclamation, "Erik will be given time to adjust to our ways and learn of Wakanda. Zuri will return to America tomorrow so N'Jobu's body may be retrieved and a proper burial be held so he may join our ancestors. Go, spread the word so that all may be gathered to see my younger brother return home."

 

The Council nods and slowly they disperse but T'Challa feels frozen in his seat. In a single day he has received news of his Uncle's death, his cousin, his betrothal. He does not even react as his father departs with Zuri speaking once more in whispers. 

 

"You know T'Challa," W'Kabi's thoughtful tone breaks through T'Challa's stunned silence and he turns to look at his friend who has been uncharacteristically quiet as he mourns the loss of his parents and tribesmen, "it is a surprise to see you betrothed before me." 

 

It is a shock for him as well, T'Challa wonders if his mother even knows. He doubts it but would she have protested? Many see this as a blessing but T'Challa feels blindsided by it all and---

 

" _Especially_  considering I am so much better looking than you," W'Kabi adds with a wide grin that T'Challa has not seen in some time. All of the thoughts and confusion grind to a halt and T'Challa stares at his smiling friend who set aside his own grief to bring comfort to T'Challa in this time of confusion and change. 

 

T'Challa laughs and W'Kabi joins him in his laughter, T'Challa is certain he even sees the Dora Milaje who remained behind smile slightly at the joke. Much will change, yes that is unavoidable but at least he shall have this. T'Challa walks with W'Kabi towards the training grounds throwing playful bickering remarks and jabs at one another. 

 

_Glory to Bast_ , he thinks as he steps outside. She shall guide them, all shall be well in time that much T'Challa remains certain of. Any bonding will be in the distant future and he will have plenty of time, they both will, to get to know one another.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it wasn't a great deal of T'Challa but considering I thought of ending this chapter earlier with only one little section from T'Challa it was enough to whet the appetite! Please leave me your feedback as always it is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Also I am definitely in the market for a Beta reader if anyones interested in getting the chapter a bit early and helping with editing please let me know!
> 
> ALSO! A Mandarin translation is available from ElaineWWW:
> 
> https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404210231218436483&mod=zwenzhang
> 
> Available in Russian from Altem:
> 
> https://ficbook.net/readfic/6545706
> 
> And...can I really be blamed for wanting to include the Auntie line? I think not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to hotlineblink for looking over the first half of this chapter!
> 
> So another wait for a chapter is over. Again I can't thank everyone enough for their words of encouragement and feedback on each chapter. I hope you all enjoy this next addition! I've added the slow-ish burn tag to the fic as some of you may have noticed. This fic is gonna be fun!
> 
> Again, thank you and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

 

When Erik finally wakes up it seems as though no time has passed. The sun is filling the room just as it had when he came in with the Queen, he probably only slept for an hour. Erik is groggy as he rolls out of bed stumbling to the attached washroom he vaguely remembers being shown. Erik goes through his morning ritual as if in a dream state, it's the same routine he has in Oakland though the washroom is half again bigger than his bedroom back at the apartment. 

 

None of it feels real. 

 

All the earlier emotions that had been churning in his mind are now more of a muted hum in the back of his head. Erik finds he is unable to even gawk at this extreme luxury in a washroom, the vibranium and gold, the rich colors, the variety of soaps and oils that he has no idea what to do with are all just...there. After what feels like nearly an hour he slowly pulls himself out of the bath grabbing a large towel to wrap around himself before looking at the dirty pile of clothes he's left tossed to the side. He hopes there's a closet with something to wear as he walks back into the room frowning when he sees the bed has been made. On top rests his basketball, an outfit laid out beside it, and a tray filled with some sort of porridge, bread and fruits. Erik stares at it in shock for a few moments blinking as if it and everything around him will disappear. 

 

Then he realizes there's a folded note on the tray and he picks it up carefully. Even the texture of the paper is different and somehow more luxurious, just like everything else in what is now his room. 

 

_Erik,_

_I did not wish to wake you for dinner last night given how badly it seemed you needed the rest. I am hopeful that later you will perhaps feel able to join us for a meal. I hope the breakfast is to your taste, Zuri will come to collect you shortly and take you to receive your Kimoyo beads. Communicating shall be much easier when you receive them._

_\- Queen Ramonda_

 

Beneath it she has written the same message in the Wakandan script for Xhosa. Erik's father had taught him to speak Xhosa and some of the writing, but not enough to fully grasp what she has written. It doesn't matter, right now Erik can't stop reading the first sentence over and over again. His stomach twists and turns; whether it's from hunger or nausea it doesn't matter. A day. He slept the entire day and missed the sunset he had wanted to see in a desperate attempt to share something with his father. 

 

 

 

 

 

Erik wants to throw the food to the side, to scream and rage venting all of his barely pent up frustration with himself. The idea of wasting food though reminds him of the kids in his class who sometimes only got to eat the free meals at school; Erik can't bring himself to do that. Instead he throws the note onto the bed and changes quickly tugging on the blue long sleeved shirt. The fabric is lighter then the hoodie he wore yesterday, probably a good thing consider he's guessing it gets warmer in Wakanda than in Oakland. 

He grabs his basketball and flings it at the wall as hard as he can catching it when it bounces back. Erik throws it again and again the sound echoing throughout the room building a rhythm up as he tries to picture a basket, throwing himself into physical activity. It's easier to do this, to focus on the ball then to deal with what's going on in his head.

 

"It is a good thing there is no one in the next room, they would have a terrible headache," Zuri muses from the doorway just as Erik releases the ball. Erik's head snaps to the side to stare at him in surprise. Which means he is not looking for the ball as it bounces back hitting him hard in the shoulder before rebounding off towards Zuri who grabs it easily. He almost looks like an entirely different man to Erik, gone are the clothes of man living in Oakland replaced by the rich patterns and colors that seem common in Wakanda.

 

"Ouch," Erik mutters rubbing his left shoulder, it stings his pride more than anything else as Zuri lightly taps him on the forehead with the ball. 

 

"Be thankful it was not your head," he chides before handing the basketball back to Erik who grimaces before setting it on the bed. 

 

"Where's my dad?" Erik asks stubbornly with his jaw set clearly not willing to be distracted. It's more than an understandable question he thinks, because all he can think of is his father's body alone in their apartment and it makes him ill.

 

"I will be going back today, after we get your Kimoyo beads," Zuri explains holding up his wrist to reveal multiple beads with symbols Erik only vaguely recognizes from his lessons with his father. Erik nods and moves to the door, the sooner they get this over with the sooner Zuri will return with his father and the sooner Erik can have--

 

What? Closure? Erik doesn't know, he just knows he needs to see his dad. Even though Erik knows it will hurt to see what he has been so desperate to deny. 

 

"Which we will do," Zuri says grasping Erik by the shoulders and pushing him back towards the small tray of food, "after you eat something." 

 

"I ain't hungry," he mutters glaring at the tray of food as if it has caused him personal offense. He's sorely tempted to hide some of it so he doesn't have to let anyone in his room, then again he doesn't know how they got in to begin with. Erik makes a mental note to figure that out soon.

 

" _Something_  Erik," Zuri cajoles gently and Erik glares up at him. He's already failed at something as easy as  _staying awake_ , somehow giving in to what he logically knows is a reasonable request feels like failing again. Erik turns his glare to the tray now, something. Just something small.

 

"One thing, I can eat the rest later or somethin'," he mutters and grabs the bowl of porridge. He can't manage much more than a few bites; barely tasting it as he goes through the motions. Erik stops when he begins to feel the return of the twisting nausea, setting the bowl back on the tray and glaring at Zuri as if daring him to try and make him eat more clearly bracing for a fight. 

 

"The rest later," Zuri concedes holding up his hands in surrender. Erik has always been stubborn, after Erik's mother had died N'Jobu was the only one with even a chance of convincing Erik to do anything he did not wish to do. It had led to more than one disciplinary meeting with Erik's teachers that N'Jobu would tell him about later. 

 

Bast help them all.

 

"So, we goin' or what?" Erik prompts as he crosses his arms over his chest not looking especially eager but he's not waffling between blinding rage and grief, so Zuri prays that this is progress. He wishes things could be different, wishes N'Jobu had made different choices; wishes mean nothing though, this is the life they have been given and all he can do is guide Erik as best he can.

 

 

"Yes, yes," Zuri says gesturing for Erik to follow. 

 

He is responsible for N'Jobu's death, helping his son in this new life is the least he can do. 

 

\---

 

The technology is astounding.

 

Zuri tells him this is only the lab in the royal palace and that there is _another_ research lab some distance away that focuses on innovating new uses for Vibranium. Erik wants to go there eventually but right now he is fascinated by all the technology in front of him that is leaps and bounds above what was available at school, even far ahead of what he's seen from Stark Industries. The images on different screens can be moved by touch, hands seemingly type into the air and images appear. Videos appear from the wrists of different scientists hovering above what Erik assumes are the Kimoyo beads as they discuss in rapid Xhosa the latest improvement or development in tech. It's difficult for Erik to fully follow since they're speaking so quickly, he has only ever spoken the language with his father who always spoke in an even pace and inflection. Still, he can understand more of what they are saying than not. 

 

"This is amazing," Erik says as he takes a seat on a small white bench as Maha, a scientist with tight braids beginning to show hints of gray at her temples moves around him holding something that looks more like a handheld scanner at a store than a high tech device, "what's she gettin'?" Erik asks Zuri as the scientist moves away from Erik and towards a glowing desk where he sees her holding up different beads.

 

"Relaying your biological signature into the beads so that you will be able to utilize them," Zuri explains reaching out his hand as Maha drops the small bracelet into his hand and he turns to Erik who holds out his right wrist for Zuri to slide the beads on. 

 

"Woah," Erik says eyes widening as he turns his wrist over inspecting it studying the different symbols and touching one of them as a screen of sorts seems to lift up and he jumps back a bit eyes widening before touching it again to make it go away looking at Zuri who lets out a small laugh.

 

"Kimoyo beads have many purposes," Zuri says sitting down beside Erik and taking his wrist, "you can place this one within a wound to stabilize it until proper medical attention can be reached." He points to the one beside that which Erik just touched. "I do not believe you will be needing it. Still, it is good to have.

 

"This," Zuri continues turning the Kimoyo beads carefully, "will allow you to open doors within the palace, among other things," Zuri explains each bead with care reluctant to reach the last one, the medical bead. Revealing to Erik his dynamic had been something Ramonda had offered to do thinking that perhaps it would be better coming from another omega but Zuri had insisted that he would be best suited. He knew Erik best, and he also was the most familiar with the culture Erik had grown up around and prayed he would be able to convince Erik that the treatment of omegas he had seen in the United States was not what he could expect here.

 

"Here you will be able to access the schedule of lessons, the King wishes for you to start slowly for now," Zuri explains pulling up a small chart, "I will take you to the library where you will meet with tutors on Wakandan Culture and Xhosa before I leave--"

 

"Huh? No," Erik says scowling at Zuri and seizes back his wrist waving off the floating screen as if he had been using Kimoyo beads his entire life, "I'm not starting any of that until I see my dad." His words are stubborn and in his eyes hold a challenge that is all too familiar to Zuri. 

 

Damn. 

 

"My Prince, I will be leaving right after. Preparations are being made for his burial, the King feels these lessons are important--" Zuri begins as Erik jumps down from the bench the wonder at the technology of Wakanda gone from his eyes preparing to dig in his heels. He doesn't give a damn what the King wants. 

 

"I said I ain't doin' it," Erik snaps and more than one scientist in the lab is struggling not to stare. It is not T'Chaka giving the order directly but it is still a command from their King and yet Erik defies the order, it is not something any are used to seeing. Zuri knows it is something they will all begin to grow used to nonetheless. 

 

" _Erik--_ "

 

"I'm out, gonna go finish eating," Erik cuts him off walking towards the exit of the lab with a belated 'thank you' to Maha and the other scientists before vanishing out door. Zuri takes a deep breath through his nose exhaling slowly as he looks up to the ceiling sending a silent prayer to Bast to give him strength.

 

"Should you not go get him?" Maha asks turning in her chair to face the younger man who shakes his head, "you did not inform him of the medical bead and the information within." 

 

"Telling him now will only make matters worse. He lost his father only yesterday, perhaps it is better to give him more time to grieve. I worry what his reaction will be," Zuri says letting out a sigh, "I must go inform the King." 

 

\---

 

Erik's lost. 

 

 

Alright, so storming off was not the wisest choice. He knows this, but he has no interest in going to lessons or whatever the King wants him to do like things are _normal_. They aren't normal. 

 

He takes a deep breath and tries to find his way back to the room because now his stomach is actually beginning to protest the last full day of depravation. He can't really remember when he ate last before arriving, but he has gone longer without a full meal before and he can manage a few moments longer. If he can actually find a way to get back to his room at least, or recall which of the beads would display a layout of the palace. 

 

Erik isn't about to admit he does not know, nor ask for help so instead he storms through the castle head held high in his best imitation of haughty confidence. No one questions him as he passes, some even stop to bow which is disconcerting as hell. He doesn't know what to say, nor how to react so for the most part he ignores it with little more than a curt nod waiting until no one is looking at him so he can fidget with the bracelet. There had been so much Zuri had shown him and even for a mind like Erik's it had felt near impossible to keep up and he was close to breaking down and calling (it reminds Erik of something out of science fiction. Who would have thought calling someone from such a tiny device was really possible?) his aunt a new voice draws his attention away from the Kimoyo beads. 

 

"Erik?" Erik jerks his head up eyes widening as he looks up to see T'Challa wiping sweat from his brow with a small towel. Erik freezes for a moment looking into the large chamber leading to the outdoors that T'Challa clearly just came from.  

 

"Wassup?" He asks hand flying behind his back as if he had not been trying to figure out how to work the Kimoyo beads for the last several minutes. T'Challa, even if he knows the truth at least has the decency not to call him out. 

 

"On your way to the library?" T'Challa asks, Erik hesitates for only a moment before raising his shoulders, he has no idea how far or close he is to the library so instead he just fidgets with the Kimoyo beads behind his back a moment longer. 

 

"What were you doing?" He asks instead looking over T'Challa's shoulder trying to see what's going on behind him but the large doors have already closed.  

 

"Training in hand to hand combat, at least until the Dora Milaje required use of the grounds," there were other areas of course in which the Crown Prince could train. He could even push the Dora from their scheduled training time but T'Challa had desired a break and W'Kabi had wished to watch the initiates, particularly Okoye. 

 

"That's a thing? For real?" Erik asks in surprise looking towards the closed doors with new interest. 

 

"Of course," T'Challa says pausing for a moment before he looks at Erik again, "do you wish to see?" 

 

"Uh, hell yea?" Erik says looking at him incredulously as if T'Challa is a fool for even needing to ask before moving past the alpha into the training room. Though it's less a training room and more of an arena built into the ground. It's much bigger then the basketball court he was playing on back in Oakland, hell it's bigger then a couple of them. Different kinds of terrain are built into the arena, flat dirt moves seamlessly to grass; to uneven rocky paths followed by a more urban terrain. There are three women in the brilliant red and gold armor that Erik now recognizes as belonging to the Dora Milaje looking over a small group of younger women who wear similar armor but in green. They move seamlessly together on the rocks, each with near perfect balance as their spears cut through the air. Closer to them Erik can see a teenager dressed in blue he vaguely recognizes as having been there when Erik arrived at the palace. 

 

"That is W'Kabi of the border tribe, he is...infatuated with one of the initiates," T'Challa explains from just behind Erik. Erik turns to look at the Crown Prince, eyebrows raised. 

 

"How come it's only women?" He asks curiously nodding to the group as T'Challa moves to stand beside him. 

 

"Well," he says pausing for a moment giving Erik an awkward smile that looks more like a grimace, "in the past the Dora Milaje were meant to be wives in training for the King. That is not the case any longer of course," he adds hastily as Erik's eyebrows raise. 

 

"Some of y'all's traditions are weird," Erik shrugs his shoulders. He does not remember his father telling him of this, though he knows of some other traditions that he remembers struck him as strange. He vaguely recalls his father speaking of when his brother was crowned King and that challengers from the other tribes and those of royal blood were welcome to fight the King for the right to the throne. 

 

Is that why those lessons Zuri had shown him did not involve combat training? Erik wonders a frown tugging at his lips. He watches the crossing of spears of the initiates move to spar with one another before he turns to T'Challa determination etched into his features. 

 

"I want to learn," he says stubbornly arms crossing over his chest and glares as if daring for the other Prince to argue with him. T'Challa looks at him oddly for a moment and Erik braces himself for an argument that he is determined to win. He's not going to be defenseless, he's going to be strong like his father--

 

"Of course Erik," T'Challa says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "Baba says you have the spirit of a warrior, I am sure the lessons will come in time. I can speak to him about it if you wish." 

 

Erik stares at him clearly surprised. He was expecting an argument about his age, about...well, something. It all feels so easy and nothing in Erik's life has ever been easy or straightforward. Suspicion kicks in and he wonders if T'Challa is placating him but the older boy speaks earnestly like he wants to help Erik. 

 

"I do not know how things are in America," T'Challa continues drawing Erik back to the conversation at hand. "But in Wakanda things are no different for an Omega then any other dynamic. It's...."

 

Erik doesn't hear the rest of what T'Challa says. It's as if time nearly freezes and his heart beat slows to match it, Omega. Omega.  Omega. His heart plummets and he shakes his head frantically as time rapidly catches up; Erik feels as if he can't breathe. It's not true. It can't be true. Erik's never given much thought to his dynamic, no one knows until they present. Erik is not going to be an Omega. There's no way they can know--

 

The cool feeling of the Kimoyo beads on his skin remind Erik of the scan, of how Zuri was explaining each bead but had not reached the last. 

 

It's too much, everything is too much. The loss of his father, this new strange place, the reveal of a dynamic he wants no part of. Erik's head is swimming and he vaguely hears T'Challa saying his name, sees him reach out towards him and Erik does the only thing he can think of doing. 

 

He runs. 

 

It's cowardly, it's weak, but he runs anyway. He runs until by some miracle his feet guide him back to his room and he slams the door shut. His heart feels as though it's about to beat out of his ribcage and Erik slumps against the bed nearly knocking over the tray of food that's still there. 

 

Outside of his mother and now the Queen, Erik has never really known an Omega. The ones he sees around the projects are jealously guarded by their alphas, meek creatures who barely seem to leave the safety of their homes entirely beholden to the will of whoever bonded them. That's not going to be him, that's _never_ going to be him. It can't. He won't let it. He's not anyone's bitch, he refuses to let that happen. To be nothing but...but a possession. 

 

It makes sense now, why Zuri was so quick to speak up for Omegas. He knew. Somehow he knew, which means his dad knew and didn't say anything. Had he been ashamed? Was that why? Was his dynamic why they were handling him like he could break at any minute? 

 

Erik holds tightly onto the ring that was once his father's as he tries to take deep breaths but each attempt catches and fails. He's not going to be weak anymore, he refuses. He's going to make his father proud and show them _all_ he's more than his dynamic. He's going to grow up and find the bastard who killed his father and he will make them pay for what has been taken from him. 

 

He is N'Jadaka, son of N'Jobu and he will _never_ yield. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the long wait for the update, I needed to get the plot bunny that was my One Shot: The Definition of Insanity. If you haven't read that yet I would definitely recommend it!
> 
> Please let me know what you think, the chapters are in the progress of being beta read and will be updated with revisions soon!
> 
> Apologies for any formatting issues, a busted laptop trackpad means this was written on my phone. Then copy pasted.

The first thing Erik does is take his Kimoyo beads and figure out how to ensure no one will enter his room without his permission. He is certain that there is a way around what he’s managed, smart as he is Erik knows his limitations. It’s patronizing in a way that they’re ‘letting’ him lock himself in the room. Messages come through from Zuri, T’Challa, from his Uncle and he immediately deletes them. The only one he acknowledges with great reluctance is a call from his Aunt, another _omega,_  Erik doesn’t think that makes him pathetic.

 

Everyone says it’s different in Wakanda, well he wants to make damn sure.

 

“I’m not leaving until my dad’s here,” Erik tells her a day into his imposed solitude. Her face projects just above his hand, more crisp then any image Erik has ever seen on TV.

 

“Erik, you need to eat. At least come--"

 

“I have food here,” he says stubbornly. He's rationed it out carefully, eat what will go bad quickly first. If he's careful Erik’s certain he can make it last for a few days, maybe a bit longer if he skips breakfast. When Erik sets his mind to something he doesn't let anything get in his way, let alone something like hunger.

 

“Check in with me every morning,” his Aunt says a few moments later. Erik closes the connection and goes to double check the doors. They may be letting him stay locked in for now, but he doesn't doubt there is an override, there would have to be.

 

Unless he can find a way to dismantle that too by bypassing some of the default security…

 

Food forgotten for now Erik sits cross legged in front of the door. He holds out his hand raising it up as he presses his fingers against each Kimoyo bead. He can use this time to learn. Throw himself into learning more about this technology so he doesn’t feel at a disadvantage, so he doesn’t think about his dad.

 

\---

 

“That boy has the stubbornness of your family, that much is for certain.” Ramonda turns to her husband and son with a pointed look as if it is their fault that Erik has locked himself away. T’Challa shifts uncomfortably under his mother's sharp look because he does feel that it _is_ his fault. His father has told him countless times that he cannot make assumptions, he must ensure he has all available information before he makes a decision.

 

T’Challa had seen the Kimoyo beads and assumed that Erik had learned of his dynamic as many Wakandan youth did. T’Challa had meant to comfort Erik and instead he's driven the younger boy into self imposed isolation.

 

“You should not allow this,” T’Chaka tells his wife and her gaze sharpens as she turns to him. “The boy needs structure, he must learn our ways--"

 

“That boy just lost his father,” Ramonda interrupts the King in a way no other would dare. “Taking him to lessons before his father is even buried, _really_ T’Chaka I have no idea what you were even thinking.”

 

“If he is to bond with T’Challa--"

 

“It will be many years from now and there will be plenty of time for him to come to understand beyond our word that Wakanda is not like America. If you push him too hard right now that boy will resent you, resent us all.” T’Challa watches as his parents stand across from one another both firm in their convictions; T’Challa rarely sees his parents butting heads in this open manner, but when they do it usually ends one way.

 

“Two days, we will not indulge him beyond that,” T’Chaka’s voice holds finality; Ramonda smiles and inclines her head, T’Challa does not doubt she can get that number extended.

 

“Of course,” she agrees and her husband shakes his head slightly but the slight smile T’Challa sees his father give her us fond.

 

“I must meet with the Council,” T’Chaka says raising a hand as T’Challa moves to follow. “No, not today. Spend some time with your mother.”

 

“Yes, I'm beginning to feel abandoned,” Ramonda says dryly. T’Challa feels a bit guilty, he has spent so much time in lessons, training, or in meetings with his father; aside from the rare shared meal with his family he has not really seen his mother in the past few weeks.

 

“Sorry Mother,” T’Challa says apologetically. His father says his goodbyes, pressing a kiss to his wife's high cheekbone before leaving the sitting room. T’Challa has always been fond of this room, filled with art from each of the tribes: sculptures from the River tribe, paintings from the Mining Tribe, elaborately woven blankets from the Merchant tribe are draped over seats, and the elaborate weaving from the Border Tribe fill the space without overwhelming it.

 

“You are growing up much too quickly,” she laments as she takes a seat on a plush lounge chair gesturing for him to take the seat across from her. T’Challa lowers himself into it obediently. “What happened was unfortunate. I understand you only wished to help T’Challa, you have a kind heart.”  

 

“I thought he knew,” T’Challa tries to explain. It isn't an acceptable excuse, he understands that and the guilt gnaws at him. He hesitates for a moment before adding, “I do not know why father wishes for us to bond.” T'Challa will not go against his father's command; he knows his father will not withdraw the command either. That doesn't mean he understands it though.

 

“I know it was a shock for you,” Ramonda says leaning towards her son. “It was for me as well, but I still can see why your father has made this choice.” T'Challa looks at her in surprise; Ramonda gives her son a small fond smile.

 

“Why?” T’Challa asks, it is easier to ask his mother than his father who will dismiss questions with a curt wave. It is not that his father is not willing to explain decisions to T’Challa, but he is King and not used to being questioned.

 

“You must understand T’Challa, how some of the more traditional members of the Council worry for our family. Some whisper that Bast has not blessed the Golden Tribe in so long because her favor fades,” Ramonda explains; T’Challa bristles at the perceived insult to his family. He understands the importance of tradition well, but such an assumption irks him. “No omega has been born within the tribe in many generations, Erik coming to us changes that perception.”

 

“But why a bond Mother?” T’Challa asks, he wants to understand but can't.

 

“Your father wants only what is best for you, what is best for Wakanda. This bond will bring Wakanda into a new age of prosperity, with you as King.” She reaches out and places a hand upon T’Challa’s knee and squeezes; T'Challa tries not to think of such a time. Bast willing, it will be a long time until he will ascend to the throne. The mantle of Black Panther will come sooner, and T’Challa cannot deny that he hungers to become the protector of Wakanda when his father is prepared to hand it down to him.

 

“He hates me now,” T’Challa laments. He knows for certain there will be no convincing his parents not to go through with the betrothal; he also cannot see Erik agreeing to it.

 

“T’Challa, he does not know you,” Ramonda says with an exasperated smile. It is good to see her son, sometimes too wise and in a hurry to grow up, show the dramatics of a typical teenager.

 

“He ran--"

 

“Because you were the one to tell him something about himself that scared him,” Ramonda cuts in,squeezing T’Challa’s knee again. “Once he knows you, he will not hate you.” How could anyone come to hate her son, after all?

 

“But _how_? He thinks things will be like how they are in America, I tried to tell him it is not, but--"

 

“So _show_ him T’Challa,” Ramonda’s words are gentle but firm. “Our words will mean nothing to Erik, but our actions will.” She knows it will take time, as a mother her heart breaks for what that boy has gone through. Were it in her power to simply take away the hurt, she would.

 

T’Challa opens his mouth to ask once more how to do this seemingly impossible task. His brow furrows as he tries to think of ways to show Erik that Wakanda will not be what he seems to expect.

 

“It will take time,” Ramonda adds. It isn't easy for a teenage boy to hear, even one as mature as T’Challa. She remembers being young, wanting the quick and easy answer; having no desire to deal with the nuances of life.

 

“I will do it,” T’Challa says with a nod his conviction clear. She smiles at him warmly, her son will be a good man, of that she has no doubt.

 

“I know T’Challa, I know.”

 

\---

 

Erik figures out how to black out the windows of his room using the Kimoyo beads after some trial and error. Control of the shutters on the outside were easy enough to get by bypassing security, but keeping that control at a consistent speed that doesn't shake his room is another matter entirely. Erik's certain he's not supposed to have access to this sort of thing, but when the supposed advanced tech isn't impenetrable to a 10 year old who only recently got ahold of it…

 

Well, it says more about the state of security then maybe Erik’s technical skills. Probably both in equal parts, if Erik thinks about it. He doesn't. He focuses on locking himself away, closing pieces of himself into little boxes and pushing it into the back of his mind. He closes off everything but the anger, at the world as well as himself.

 

Erik refuses to watch the sunset. It's something his father hoped for them to watch together, and Erik’s goals shift from seeing one to only watching one once his father has been returned to Wakanda. Erik believes since his first chance was lost, that his first sunset should be with his father returned to his beloved homeland. So he looks himself in the room, giving little more than a cursory update to his aunt as she requested. Until one morning when he receives a message from her dressed nearly entirely in white.

 

_“It is time.”_

 

Erik asks no questions. He knows what she means without a need for clarification. His father is back. The dream his father had of bringing them back to Wakanda may be fulfilled, though by circumstances far different from what his father would have wanted.

 

Erik has washed the clothes he had been brought from Oakland in the tub. Drying them carefully to ensure he would be able to use them. They're simple and cheap, but they're _his._ He changes slowly, carefully pulling on the hoodie. His eyes flicker to the small nightstand where the photo of his parents rests, the only keepsake he has of them both. Erik’s parents are laughing in the photograph, his mother is resting her hand on his father's chest as if playfully pushing him away. There is a slight roundness to her stomach, she's six months pregnant with him in the photo. She's nearly glowing and his father looks at her with the widest smile.

 

They're both gone now, and he's alone.

 

Erik furiously wipes his face with his sleeves, he's not going to start crying now. He’s _not._ He won't let them see him as some...some weakling.

 

_Omega._

 

Erik pushes the word away, boxes it up in his mind and hides it. He’ll deal with it later.

 

Erik holds up his wrist and for the first time in days unlocks the door. Waiting for him is his Aunt, dressed in a resplendent gown of white with a hint of gold. She doesn't say anything about his chosen attire, instead she offers him a hand. He takes it after a moment, wanting to argue that he's not some little kid who needs comfort. His hand tightens anyways; she smiles sadly down at him.

 

“Let’s not do that again, alright Erik?” She asks and he shrugs his shoulders, making no commitment.

 

Ramonda steps forward and he follows suit, walking through the halls of the palace which seems oddly empty. Though it isn't as though Erik has seen very much of the palace outside of his room. Erik walks beside his aunt, glad that there's no one to see him until they reach the landing where Erik had initially arrived. The Dora Milaje stand guard in front of an even larger ship this time, they cross their arms over their chests as they bow their heads when the Queen leads Erik forward. Erik doesn't think he will ever get used to the strange treatment.

 

“Where are we going?” Erik asks as they walk up the gangway into the craft. He knows what they're going to, even if he hasn't really let himself fully think about it. Everything is much too real right now; part of Erik wants to run back to hide. As if his father can miraculously come back if Erik refuses to go to his funeral.

 

The Dora Milaje follow them onto the ship, the gangway retracts and Erik knows that chance is gone. He won't be a coward, he won't.

 

“The burial grounds of the Golden Tribe are close to the Necropolis, where the Black Panther is buried. So that they may be close to their families when Bast and Sekhmet take them into their arms,” Ramonda explains. Erik nods, he knows of the religion in Wakanda as best his father could explain; he’s just not sure how much of it he believes.

 

Ramonda leads him to a seating area where Erik sees that T’Challa is waiting for them, unlike his mother dressed in stunning white, T’Challa wears a black suit with intricate silver patterns like braids on the lapels of his suit. Erik ignores the feeling of being out of place, pushing it aside in his mind like he doesn’t care as he takes a seat across from T’Challa giving him nothing but a curt nod.

 

If he tries to apologize Erik doesn’t know how he’ll react. Thankfully T’Challa only nods in return, hands folding into his lap as Erik turns his head to look out at the Golden City, out of Wakanda as they lift off and fly away.

 

\---

 

There are drums, their rhythm seems to find the cadence of Erik’s heart beat as he walks forward as if in a fog. There are people there, there are _a lot_ of people there. To Erik they are little more than ghosts in his periphery. All Erik can see as he steps off the gangway is a path to a stone pedestal where his father’s body rests, dressed in white. His arms crossed over his chest in salute to Wakanda with flowers the likes of which Erik has never seen draped over him nearly covering his entire chest.

 

Everything Erik has locked away comes rushing to the surface. The denial, the desperate hope, and that overwhelming sense of grief nearly causes his knees to buckle. Erik freezes only for a moment, he’s already moving forward before the comforting hand of his Aunt can reach him. He can see Zuri turned away from his father’s body speaking to T’Chaka, but they’re unimportant. Just as the words they speak, to him? To the crowd? Erik cannot hear them over the rush of emotions he’s feeling, so powerful he feels as if he cannot even cry.

 

Each step Erik takes seems to follow those distant drums, the path is short but it feels as if it is miles. Erik’s heart swells, catching in his throat as he walks up the stone steps finally stopping as he stands before his father’s body; it is only then that tears begin to fall down his cheeks, rolling down and onto the cool stone. His father looks as if he is sleeping, as if any moment he will jump up and tease Erik for being so foolish for actually believing he was dead.

 

He doesn’t though, of course he doesn’t.

 

Erik’s hand close into tight fists, shaking as he looks down at the peace on his father’s face. He feels as if he can’t breathe, as if he--

 

“Erik,” it’s Zuri’s gentle voice and hands on his shoulders that draw him from his shock. Erik’s head snaps up to him as Zuri tries to guide him to where the rest of the royal family stands, Erik digs in his heels refusing to move.

 

“ _I’m going to kill him,"_  Erik says and though he’s certain his voice is barely above a whisper it feels as if every head snaps to look at him. Erik doesn’t care, speaking in Xhosa that is fluent and crisp though shaking with rage, “ _I’m going to find Klaue, and I’m going to kill him!_ ” It’s a proclamation he feels to his bones, he won’t let anyone stop him. Erik’s eyes fly to the King, waiting to hear something to contradict him. His Uncle’s face is impassive as he looks down at him for a few heartbeats longer before he nods shortly.

 

Erik moves away to stand with the royal family and he does not see the look of conflict crossing Zuri’s face.

 

\---

 

There is a celebration after the funeral, a celebration of life and of the life that comes after on the ancestral plane. If Erik sees one more person who bows before him, telling him that his father was an honorable man he thinks he’s going to scream. His father is _dead,_  killed by a man who has already killed Wakandans and stolen Vibranium. He wants to yell at them to do something then, do something so that when Erik is old enough he can be the one to kill Klaue.

 

They have returned to the palace now that his father has been laid to rest. It is late afternoon and Erik feels drained by the presence of so many others. He wants nothing more than to slip away from the hall filler with tables of food, drums and so many people who praise gods that Erik has only heard of.

 

“Erik,” he nearly jumps when he hears T’Challa speaking to him. He had not even heard his cousin approach. The older boy is standing just to his left gesturing for him to follow, Erik glances at T’Challa a bit warily before looking to where his Aunt and Uncle are. Surrounded by Dora Milaje and not watching out for him, this seems to be his chance.

 

He nods and together the two slip out of the Hall, both missing the amused glint that enters the eyes of the Queen.

 

“So, what's up?” Erik asks curiously once it seems the coast is clear and no one has followed them to drag them back. T’Challa smiles almost conspiratorially at Erik who raises both eyebrows in response.

 

“I had a little something put up, it looked like you would rather be anywhere but there and I thought now would be the time to show you,” T’Challa explains. Erik frowns a little, that’s really not much to go off of. He has no idea why T’Challa would be evasive and is initially wary of the alpha but T’Challa was right. Erik had no desire to return to the celebration surrounded by strangers.

 

So he follows T’Challa in silence. At first it seems that they’re going back to the training arena, Erik isn’t sure how he feels about that not wanting to be reminded of the shameful way he had ran from T’Challa, or of the information revealed. Mercifully they turn just before then, still heading outside and Erik nearly sighs in relief.

 

They don't walk for very long, down a winding path that takes them to--

 

“Are those hover bikes?” Erik asks jaw dropping in awe. They're floating seamlessly, sleek and as beautifully designed as everything else here. They look like a cross between a bicycle and some of the street racing bikes Erik remembers seeing around San Francisco when his dad would take him. T’Challa nods, they seem like just another piece of tech to him but for Erik...it's a welcome distraction into fantasy.

 

“We will need to ride for only a short while, do you wish to go with me or--"

 

“I got this,” Erik interrupts stepping up to a bike raising his wrist with the Kimoyo beads. “It's like everything else right? It connects with the Kimoyo beads to turn it on, then from there it's balancing like a regular bike. Speed, brakes all right here.” T’Challa stares at his cousin who it seems has taken to the technological advances effortlessly. In fact, Erik is already straddling one of the bikes, brow knitted in concentration as he uses the Kimoyo beads to sync and activate the bike.

 

T’Challa moves onto his bike beside Erik, gesturing for the younger boy to follow as he pulls towards a tunnel beneath the palace. T’Challa is well aware that Dora Milaje likely follow overhead in a cloaked vessel to ensure their safety, but he appreciates the illusion of escape nonetheless as he leads Erik away from the city.

 

It takes a bit of adjusting for Erik, his hands gripping tight on the handlebars. For all the facade of assurance he had projected at T’Challa this is new to him. He's only a few feet off the ground; they're not actually going that fast but to Erik it feels as if they're flying. There’s no familiar broken concrete beneath his feet, no sound of frantically peddling feet, only a barely audible hum. They don't go far, just to the outskirts of the city which seem to blend into the wilderness. There is a clear path beneath them still or Erik would have called out and asked T’Challa where they were going; then he sees it, just as T’Challa slows down to a stop.

 

Erik stops too, gaping and unable to believe what he's seeing. They're clear of the small smattering of trees, at the top of a rolling hill surrounded by nothing but the stunning countryside of Wakanda. Yet in the middle of it all is an honest to God _basketball court_. At first glance it seems rudimentary, nothing more than flatly pounded dirt with lines painted across. Looking past that though there are two poles that look adjustable and gleam in the afternoon sun, clearly made from Vibranium; the backboards are a clean and clear, there's actual netting around the hoop unlike the basket Erik was used to. The only reason something so out of place would be in Wakanda was for him, that has to be it.

 

Erik jerks his head to T’Challa when he hears the familiar sound of a basketball hitting the ground. The one T’Challa holds, much like this court, is also new. The teenager looks almost sheepish as he looks at Erik, as if expecting Erik to be angry or something. How _could_ he though?

 

“This is...this…” Erik trails off finding himself at a loss for words. “Why?” It's all he can manage to ask, he has so many more questions but that seems to be the easiest to ask now.

 

“I noticed when you came here that you were holding one of these, so I asked Zuri before he left,” T’Challa explains as he drops the ball and catches it again. “He said you spent a lot of time playing with your friends, and I thought…” he trails off for a moment looking at Erik as if considering his next words.

 

“I thought,” he continues; his words hold more conviction. “That even though Wakanda is to be your new home it does not mean you should have to abandon the things you enjoyed. I had hoped that this may...help.” T’Challa finishes awkwardly, hopeful that the gesture won't be rejected. Erik just stares at him in shock, unable to understand why someone would do this for him. Is it some weird apology for what happened a few days ago? Is it some obligation to make sure Erik won't be a threat to him as another Prince?

 

When he looks into T’Challa’s eyes though, Erik doesn't doubt that T’Challa is telling the truth.

 

“It’s great, it's...this is the coolest thing,” cooler than any of the tech he has seen. The first thing that has distracted him fully from the grief mixed with anger and numbness that has been constant since that night on the roof.

 

“Good,” T’Challa says with visible relief as his shoulders release pent up tension. He grins at Erik now holding up the ball, “but you are going to have to show me what to do...because I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.”

 

They spend hours out on the court, T’Challa having discarded his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt long ago. T’Challa definitely has a height and reach advantage, a 5 and a half year age gap will do that. Erik has the distinct advantage of actually knowing how to play, and the rules.

 

“Dude, I keep telling you, you can't do that. It's traveling,” Erik insists as T’Challa rushes past him without bothering to dribble the ball. T’Challa takes a shot which bounces easily off the backboard and into Erik’s hands.

 

“It is the most efficient way around you,” T’Challa remarks with a smile, Erik rolls his eyes.

 

“It’s against the rules,” he reminds T’Challa.

 

“So you claim,” T’Challa teases in return, but shifts his stance to defend. Erik snorts, about to make a move around T’Challa when he realizes that it's starting to get dark and turns his head to the west.

 

It's beautiful. Just like his father said they were. Erik feels as of the very breath has been knocked from his lungs, seeing that blend of purple and orange hues for the first time. The way it gleams, a truly unobstructed beauty. There's not even any noise where they are to pollute the image Erik captures in his mind and heart.

 

“Is everything alright?” T’Challa asks cautiously.

 

“My dad,” Erik says as if caught in a trance. “He always told me the sunsets in Wakanda were the most beautiful in the world. Said he wanted to show me one day.”

 

The tears are back now, no longer avoided by exertion and focus on basketball. He's never going to see his father again, he's never going to be able to watch this sunset with him. There won't be any pick up basketball games for him, no more soft guidance as his dad teaches him about Wakanda.

 

“In our culture,” T’Challa says moving to stand beside Erik looking out at the sunset. He realizes that perhaps having grown up around it he has forgotten its beauty. “Death is not the end, it's more of a...stepping off point.” Erik looks up at him with a slight frown, he knows a little of the religion in Wakanda though his father never explained it fully.

 

“Dead is dead,” he says flatly. Isn't it?

 

“Our father's believe that you reach out with both hands, then Bast and Sekhmet will reach out to take you to the greater elsewhere. Forever.” T’Challa explains, he himself is unsure of how much of that he believes, despite his father's conviction. He hopes it is something that can bring some form of comfort to Erik.

 

“I'm not my father,” Erik replies. He wipes his eyes, it does nothing to stop the tears that blur the sunset.

 

“No, you're not,” T’Challa agrees. Hesitantly he reaches out and wraps an arm around Erik’s shoulders in an almost hug, “Erik--"

 

“N’Jadaka,” Erik says impulsively, not pulling away. “It’s the name my dad gave me.” It’s the first time he's said it to someone else, revealed the truth.

 

“Do you have a preference?” Erik thinks about it for a moment, he takes a deep breath as they watch the sun continue to melt away.

 

“Erik’s fine most of the time,” he answers and T’Challa nods, squeezing Erik again one last time.

 

“We should go back before they send a search party,” T’Challa remarks and Erik almost asks if he's joking. Probably not.

 

“Yea, yea good call,” Erik says as he furiously wipes his cheeks again. If he's not careful he's going to rub the skin raw.

 

Erik leaves the ball on the court. T’Challa explains that no one will steal it and that there is a barrier around to keep animals out. Erik's not sure if he believes that but he follows T’Challa back to the hover bikes without protest glancing back once more at the sunset.

 

He may not believe what his father did, but for that moment it's nice to dream that it may be true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Please let me know what you think.


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